Seattle after Midnight
C.J. Carmichael
A dozen roses…then you'll be mineGeorgia Lamont, host of a late-night radio show in Seattle, is used to secret admirers. Her sultry voice gets lonely hearts through the night–especially during the holiday season. But this note–stuck to a single rose–has her spooked. Then you'll be mine. Georgia doesn't like the sound of that.And neither does private investigator Pierce Harding, one of Georgia's fans. When she asks for his help, Pierce is amazed by his reaction to Georgia, who is more homespun innocent than sexy vixen. He's always been all business and kept his emotions under control, but as the letters get more threatening, Pierce has trouble maintaining his distance. His head is telling him to treat Georgia like a client. His heart is telling him something else….
What was he doing here?
Pierce stopped his car, realizing that he’d ended up outside the office complex that housed KXPG Radio. Every night he felt as if Georgia was speaking directly to him, when in fact she was reaching out to thousands. He was nuts to believe any sort of connection existed between them.
Georgia shared a final bit of poetry before signing off. Pierce had no interest in the radio after that, preferring silence to the insipid programming that followed Seattle after Midnight.
He eyed the parking lot and wondered which of the handful of vehicles sitting there at five in the morning belonged to Georgia. Oh, for Pete’s sake. Just go home, would you?
He didn’t. And fifteen minutes later his tenacity was rewarded as a woman who could only be Georgia dashed out of the building. The security guard had held the outer door open for her and continued to watch after her as she raced for her car. Pierce opened his window in time to hear her call out, “Thanks, Monty. I’m fine.”
The security guard waved, then returned to his post. No sooner had the door swung shut behind him than Georgia let out a scream.
Dear Reader,
Have you ever been awake at night when everyone—almost the entire world, it seems—is asleep? The world looks different in the dark, doesn’t it? It feels different, too. Somehow our fears, anxieties and insecurities seem to thrive in the shadows.
The late-night radio host understands the world of the dark. She knows about insomniacs, shift workers and night owls. With carefully selected music and her own specially chosen words, she reaches through the night and makes connections with these people.
Georgia Lamont is the host of Seattle after Midnight. She has a talent for connecting with her listeners. But what happens when she makes a connection with the wrong person? This is the question I asked myself when I began to write this story. But even as I began to explore the sinister side of the night, another question formed in my mind.
What happens when she makes a connection with the right person—someone who needs her as much as she needs him?
I hope you enjoy this story. If you would like to write or send e-mail, I would be delighted to hear from you through my Web site at www.cjcarmichael.com. Or send mail to #1754-246 Stewart Green, S.W., Calgary, Alberta, T3H 3C8, Canada.
Sincerely,
C.J. Carmichael
Seattle after Midnight
C.J. Carmichael
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The author would like to thank her friend,
audiophile Mike Fitzpatrick, for being her music consultant
for this project and for introducing her
to the bliss of Kenny Rankin.
Christina Rowsell (host of Christina After Dark),
thank you for your generosity in inviting me to your studio,
answering my questions and introducing me to the
fascinating, multitasking, crazy world of radio.
For my brother Phil
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER ONE
“IT’S AFTER MIDNIGHT, Seattle. You know what that means, don’t you?”
The voice, seductive and yet somehow comforting, propelled Pierce Harding to crank up the volume of his radio, so he could hear above the steady drumming of rain on the roof of his car.
“You’re listening to Georgia and this is Seattle after Midnight on KXPG radio….”
Across the street the Charleston Hotel sparkled with seasonal fairy lights. A wreath decked out with bows and fake fruit made the oak entrance look Christmas-card perfect.
Pierce popped a square of chewing gum out of a pack and into his mouth. It was the beginning of December and Christmas was being rammed down his throat wherever he turned. He could only hope Georgia wouldn’t play any bloody carols on her show tonight.
Parked with the owner’s permission at the service end of a gas station, Pierce had a clear view up and down the street. The sidewalks were deserted. Occasionally a car would drive by. Only three had stopped for gas in the past half hour.
Thanks to the cold, he had to keep the windows closed and run the heater at fifteen-minute intervals to clear the condensation. But even with the pumped-in warmth, he felt chilled. Tired. Alone.
“This is your time,” the radio host promised. She sounded a bit like Demi Moore, Pierce thought. Only sexier, if that was possible.
“Yours and mine,” she continued, her voice dipping even deeper. “I have some sweet surprises in store for you, so stay with Georgia and we’ll get through this night together, I promise.”
Across the street the door to the hotel opened. Pierce grabbed his video recorder and hit the power button. But the two people holding hands as they dashed for a waiting taxi were strangers. He set down the camera and prepared himself mentally for a long wait.
His agency had been hired to keep twenty-four-hour surveillance on the wife of a man who was out of town on business for three days. Jodi and Steven Calder were in their midforties, childless and wealthy. Steven—Pierce’s client—suspected Jodi of having an affair. A suspicion that seemed likely to be true.
Just four hours ago Jodi had taken a taxi from the Calder’s estate home in Madison Park. She’d had a big black suitcase with her and when the cab had pulled up in front of the Charleston, Pierce had been sure she was up to no good.
But as far as he could tell, she was in her room alone and had been for hours. He’d been keeping an eye out for single males entering the hotel, but had seen none. The Charleston seemed to appeal more to older couples and families than the business crowd.
Or the illicit-lovers crowd.
What was Jodi Calder doing in that hotel room? Had her lover been delayed somehow? Had he canceled? But if that were the case, why hadn’t Jodi Calder returned to her comfortable home?
The situation was puzzling, but soon would become someone else’s problem. He’d broken the watch into three eight-hour stretches. Jake Jeffrey, his youngest and newest employee, would be covering mornings, starting at 5:00 a.m. Will Livingstone, the senior man in Pierce’s team, would handle the afternoon shift.
If Jodi Calder’s lover ever did turn up, they’d catch him, all right.
“Tonight we’re going to play something special.” Georgia’s voice sounded as close and intimate as if she were sitting in his car with him. “When Kenny Rankin sings in the key of D minor, the result is something no feeling person could ever forget. Imagine you’re at a table in a Parisian bistro, sipping wine and thinking of that one person you’ve never been able to forget.”
The music started then, plaintive notes, a pleasing melody, then a man’s voice, clear and pure. Pierce’s chest welled with an unrecognizable sensation, a sweet aching. More and more he felt this way when he listened to Georgia’s show and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was the emotion Cass had tried to describe to him in the years they’d been married.
She’d been so good to him, tried so patiently to help him, and he’d given precious little in exchange.
Cass, I thought I loved you.
But the way he felt right now, he knew something had been missing. And Cass had known, too.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Georgia said as the song ended. “Tonight we’re going to be listening to a lot of music played in those sad, haunting minor keys. Because we all know that love isn’t always sunshine and roses. If you can relate to that, I want to hear from you. Give me a call, toll-free, at…”
As she recited the phone number, Pierce imagined what it would be like to call Georgia, to actually speak to her.
He shook his head, amazed that the idea had even crossed his mind. He muttered the toll-free number that Georgia repeated frequently through out her program. So frequently he had it memorized. His fingers itched for the cell phone in his jacket pocket.
God, he was worse than an obsessed teenager.
Keep your mind on the job, he reminded himself. He’d gone thirty years without falling in love. He certainly wasn’t about to start now, with a woman he’d never even met.
FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD Brady Walsh couldn’t sleep, which was nothing unusual. He was often awake for hours after his mother said good-night to him, usually around ten o’clock. It was their unspoken agreement that as long as he stayed in his room, she wouldn’t interfere with whatever he chose to do—homework, surfing the Internet, or playing video games.
On weeknights after twelve he listened to the radio. He’d found a new program he really liked. The music was kind of hokey, but the disk jockey was really cool. Listening to Georgia he forgot about the fact that he had no friends, no girlfriend, no life.
And no wonder.
Brady stood in front of his bedroom window. With his bedside lamp on, and the big oak outside screening the streetlamps, the glass was perfectly reflective, showing in excruciating detail all the reasons he would forever be a nerd.
Too tall, too skinny, too many zits. Braces on his teeth. Then there was his nose. Brady put a hand up to his most hated feature. It was the same as his father’s and though he knew his dad had been considered a good-looking man in his day, on Brady the nose looked gargantuan.
He wasn’t surprised Courtney wouldn’t talk to him anymore.
He went to his desk, where he kept his old junior high yearbook open to page twenty-five and a photograph of the drama club. In the center of the group of students—most of them girls—was Courtney herself, her blond hair gleaming, her perfect teeth, which had never needed braces, showcased in her heart-stopping smile.
Courtney. She was so far out of his league—in looks, personality and popularity—that he never would have dared to dream about her if they hadn’t been assigned to the same research project at the start of the school year.
He’d been surprised at how smart she was, how easy to get along with, how funny. She contributed ideas, but was willing to listen to his suggestions, too. They’d met after school for three precious afternoons, and one Friday evening at her house, her mother had ordered pizza and they’d worked until after nine.
She laughed easily and often, but not foolishly like so many of the girls at school.
They’d aced the project. Got the highest mark in the class.
Restless, Brady paced his room, not sure what to do with his energy. It was well past midnight, but he knew he’d never sleep. His room was beginning to feel like a cell.
Gently, he eased the door open. His mother had stopped crying about half an hour ago. Her door was shut and no light showed in the gap between door and carpet.
He slipped downstairs and raided the fridge of that night’s leftovers. As he munched on a piece of roast shoved into a crusty dinner roll, he noticed his mother’s purse on the counter next to the phone. Beside the purse was the key holder for her new Audi.
The car had been a birthday present from his father in June. That was six months ago and she’d driven the car only a handful of times, preferring to get around in his dad’s old Buick.
Brady could hardly wait until he had his driver’s license. His mother had already told him she’d let him use the Audi whenever he wanted. What freedom that would be! He imagined himself at the wheel, the window rolled down, a fresh breeze in his hair.
The first place he’d go would be Courtney’s house. He remembered where she lived, had even figured out which window belonged to her room.
An urgent longing to see her, right this second, hit him. If he drove by her house, maybe the light in her room would be on. Maybe he’d catch her silhouette as she walked past the window to her bed…
He stared at the key holder that he had no legal right to touch. He had only a learner’s permit. The car wasn’t his.
Then he scooped the black plastic case up and pressed the silver button on the side. The key sprang out like a secret weapon. Cool. He felt like he could tap into the power of the V-8 engine just from this slender piece of metal.
Why not? An inner voice challenged. How would Mom ever find out? Just don’t go too far, don’t use too much gas and you won’t have any problems.
Brady tossed the key into the air once, then grinned. He was going to do this.
Five minutes later, he was in his mother’s car. He glanced over the dashboard, familiarizing himself with the various controls. The car came equipped with a cell phone. That could come in handy, too.
Nervous, but determined, Brady reversed out of the garage. On the radio the woman with the throaty voice welcomed him back to Seattle after Midnight. He thought about what she’d said earlier. Imagine you’re at a table in a Parisian bistro, sipping wine and thinking of that one person….
Clear as daylight, he saw that person. For a moment he had to close his eyes, choke back tears.
Courtney, he reminded himself. I have to check out her house. Tentatively he opened his eyes. Tried clearing his throat, then singing along to the song on the radio.
He was fine. Everything was under control. He turned on the windshield wipers, then hit the button on the visor to close the garage. He was more determined than ever to get away from this place. Carefully, he eased onto the road, then switched gears and nosed the car down the lane.
STANDING AT the window in her darkened living room, Sylvie Moreau watched until the taillights of her lover’s car had disappeared around a corner. Feeling a confused mixture of relief and disappointment, she dropped the curtain into place and retreated to her kitchen.
The countertops were spotless. Reid had cleaned up from the feast he’d brought with him—take-out sushi and chocolate-covered strawberries. He’d even rinsed the empty bottle of champagne and disposed of it in her recycle bin on the back step.
Reid was considerate, both out of bed and in, and Sylvie still considered it a small miracle that she’d ever met him. At the very least it had been a fluke. A couple of months ago at her favorite bookstore, she’d noticed him in line ahead of her for a coffee. Later she’d found that he’d never been to the store before in his life, and had only stopped in on impulse.
They’d started chatting and had eventually taken their coffees to a small table where the conversation had continued to flow as if they’d known each other forever.
Of course, she’d noticed he wore a wedding ring, but that first meeting had been so innocent. When he’d asked her to lunch, she’d assumed his intentions were merely friendly. And probably that was all he had been interested in, at first, for them to just be friends.
But for over a month now, they’d been more than friends and she’d never been happier.
Or unhappier.
Strange how opposite emotions could coexist in one body. In truth, the ups and downs were somewhat addictive. They kept her from thinking about her past—her mother’s death, then her own aborted engagement, and the miserable years after.
Sylvie turned off the main floor lights and headed upstairs to her bedroom. Six months ago, on her thirtieth birthday, she’d come into her inheritance from an income-trust on her father’s side of the family. Her first step had been to buy this house, a cute little Victorian on Queen Anne Hill. Then, she’d quit her job, a move that with hindsight had been a mistake. Without the daily interaction with her co-workers at the bank, she’d felt more lonely than ever.
Until Reid.
Sylvie switched the house sound system from CD to radio, then twisted on the taps to her Jacuzzi tub, adding a handful of lavender-scented salts. She dropped her satin robe in a cloth-lined hamper, then disposed of the matching teddy in a similar manner.
Sylvie slipped into the warm bath water. As soon as she turned off the taps she was able to hear again the radio program playing softly.
She always listened to KXPG, but her favorite program, by far, was this late-night show hosted by a radio personality named Georgia. Georgia was new to Seattle, had only been on the air a few months, but already Sylvie was addicted to the eclectic selection of music and the thoughtful musings and opinions of the host.
“Imagine you’re at a table in a Parisian bistro,” Georgia invited her, “sipping wine and thinking of that one person you’ve never been able to forget….”
Sylvie sighed and closed her eyes. The fragrant candles she’d lit for Reid were still burning and the sweet scent added to the quiet mood of the night. Georgia’s question lingered in her mind. Who was the one person she would never forget?
Her ex-fiancé, Wayne? No way. He hadn’t been able to understand the deep depression she’d slid into after her mother’s funeral. Though she’d been mortified when he’d broken their engagement, now she was glad she hadn’t married him.
So was Reid the love of her life, then? But what about his wife? She blanked her mind, as she always did when she hit this particular wall. As Reid said, all that mattered was that they loved each other. Goodness knew, she loved him. And she truly believed that he loved her, too.
If only she could forget about his wife. And the two kids who called him Daddy.
AT FOUR-THIRTY in the morning Jake Jeffrey drove up to the gas station for his shift. Pierce opened the car door and met Jake in the parking lot. Jake was young and eager and listened raptly as Pierce gave him the lowdown on the situation.
Jake eyed the hotel speculatively. “So she spent the entire night in her hotel room? Alone?”
He sounded disappointed.
“Her lights were on for most of the night. But I haven’t seen much movement this past while. Maybe she finally fell asleep.”
“What is she doing in there?” Jake asked.
Pierce handed Jake the video camera, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep and maybe you’ll find out.”
He returned to his car, a nondescript brown Nissan. The Nissan was perfect for surveillance jobs like this one—no one ever seemed to notice his vehicle, or remember what it looked like. After starting the engine he headed in the general direction of home—a loft in one of the old warehouses on the eastern shore of Lake Union. His apartment was across the hall from his business address, a handy arrangement that suited him fine. Both places had been decorated with a modern, sparse sensibility. Muted colors, very ergonomic.
Cass would have hated it.
After they were married, they’d bought a town house. She’d decorated it top to bottom with furniture that belonged in another century and lots of area rugs with neatly combed fringes. Her hobby had been needlework and she’d filled their walls with framed samplers and their couch and chairs with stiff pillows that God forbid he should ever put his head on.
He’d never felt comfortable in the two-story town house. But he credited Cass for trying. She’d wanted nothing more than to make him a home.
And look where that had gotten her.
He pressed the fingers of one hand to his temple. He couldn’t think about that now. Best to think of nothing, to feel nothing.
For the third time that night, he raised the volume on the car radio. Then he drove right by the turn that would have taken him home. He kept driving, aimlessly, lost in the sweet nirvana of a passionate woman’s voice on a cold winter night.
“IT WOULDN’T BE Seattle after Midnight if we didn’t play a little Coltrane,” Georgia said.
There were only ten minutes left in her show. Pierce had ended up parking on the shore of Lake Union. Now he wondered why he’d felt the need to seek out water when there was so much of the damn stuff in the air tonight. He’d lived in Seattle almost half his life, but every winter it always seemed like he’d never see the sun again.
“Michael Harper had this to say about John Coltrane. You pick up the horn with some will and blow into the freezing night. That’s what we need tonight, don’t you think? A little tenor love…”
Georgia’s husky voice faded as Coltrane’s saxophone expanded into the nighttime airwaves. A sweet melancholy stole over Pierce, and he wondered, with something bordering awe, how she did it. How did this Georgia woman combine words and music, poetry and her simple stories, in such a way that she made him feel as if he were alive again?
How many other people in Seattle were listening right now? Men and women working the nightshift, insomniacs, the brokenhearted. Did they all feel the way he did—as if Georgia was speaking directly to them, her honeyed voice meant for only their ears?
The song ended and there was a momentary silence before Georgia spoke again. Actually she sighed. “Amazing, isn’t he? I have one more song to end our journey through this night, but first let’s take another caller. Hello, this is Georgia and you’re on Seattle after Midnight.” She paused. “Is anyone there?”
“Georgia?”
“This is Georgia. Who am I speaking to?”
“Um…Jack.”
“Hi, Jack. Did you want to request a song to night?”
“Not really. I just wanted to talk to someone. I listen to you every night. Sometimes I imagine we’re in the same room, like friends or something.”
“That’s sweet. I’m glad you like the show.”
“I love the show. And I liked the songs you played tonight. They’re kind of, well, old…but powerful, too.”
“That’s the magic of the minor key. And I have another for you tonight, Seattle. This collaboration between Billy Joel and Ray Charles will make you wish you had a baby grand in your life.”
Pierce anticipated the song before it began, and when the soulful opening chords reached his ears, he felt again the aching longing that this show seemed to awaken in him.
Slowly he cruised the length of Fairview Avenue, wondering about the guy who’d made that last call. What would incite someone to pick up the phone and to talk to a woman he’d never met—a woman who wouldn’t know him from Adam if she passed him on the street—and tell her things he probably wouldn’t tell his closest friend?
The ten-digit number sprang to his mind again. The weight of his cell phone in the breast pocket of his jacket suddenly seemed unbearably tempting. To think that all he had to do was punch some numbers with his finger and he would be able to talk to her…
Jeez. He was going crazy. Why couldn’t he stop fantasizing about someone he’d never met? He wasn’t that lonely.
Or maybe he was. He stopped his car, realizing that by subconscious design he’d ended up outside the office complex that housed KXPG Radio. The five-story brick building had a parking lot on one side and a coffee shop next to that. Across the street the still waters of Lake Union seemed like nothing but a silent, black pit.
What was he doing here? Hoping to catch a glimpse of Georgia as she left the building for the night?
Pathetic, he thought, but he kept his car parked right where it was, at a meter on the deserted street. Every night he felt as if she were speaking directly to him, when in fact she was reaching out to thousands. They’d never met; he was nuts to believe any sort of connection existed between them.
“Well, that’s our show for tonight, Seattle. Wait, I see I have another call from Jack. Are you still there?”
“I’m here, Georgia. I wanted to say that I really liked that song. Can’t you play just one more tune?”
“I’m sorry, but we’re out of time tonight—”
“Well, is it possible to see you after the show?”
For the first time that night, possibly all day, Pierce smiled. The guy had nerve, at least.
“After the show there is no more Georgia. Like Cinderella’s stagecoach, I turn into a pumpkin. Come again tomorrow, Seattle. When the midnight hour strikes, you’ll know where to find me.”
Georgia shared a final bit of poetry before signing off. Pierce had no interest in the radio after that, preferring silence to the insipid programming that followed Seattle after Midnight.
He leaned his head against the seat rest, his eyes burning from fatigue. Logic told him to start his car and go home. But he didn’t. He eyed the outdoor parking lot next to the KXPG office tower and wondered which of the handful of vehicles sitting there at five in the morning might belong to Georgia.
Not one of the cars seemed to fit. The dark sedan was too conservative, the lemon-colored VW too bubbly…
Oh, for Pete sake. Just go home, would you?
He didn’t. And fifteen minutes later his tenacity was rewarded as a woman, who could only be Georgia, dashed out of the building.
She wore a knee-length trench coat and held something that might have been a briefcase over her head to protect her hair from the rain. She was shorter than he’d imagined. And slightly more rounded, but it was hard to tell for sure with that bulky coat. In the glare of an outdoor streetlamp, her hair glowed like soft gold.
The security guard had held the outer door open for her and continued to watch after her as she raced for her car. Pierce opened his window in time to hear her call out, “Thanks, Monty. I’m fine—really.”
The security guard waved, then returned to his post inside the building. No sooner had the door swung shut behind him, than Georgia let out a scream.
CHAPTER TWO
GEORGIA LAMONT felt like a fool for screaming. It was only a rose tucked into the handle of her car, but when her fingers had closed over it, she’d felt one of the thorns dig deep into her thumb. She supposed she’d already been a little emotionally sensitive thanks to that last caller.
Over the years she’d been in this business, both here and in South Dakota, she’d developed a sixth sense about the people who phoned in to talk to her. She could tell when someone was a bit off, or had been drinking, or was just the obnoxious sort. But Jack tugged at her heartstrings. She intuited deep sorrow in him. Too much sorrow for someone so young.
Georgia brought her injured thumb to her mouth and tasted blood, then froze at the sound of footsteps slapping on pavement, moving fast, moving closer.
A quick glance toward the street revealed a tall man in dark clothes running toward her. He didn’t seem to care about the rain, which drizzled down his hair and face, unchecked.
She thought of screaming again. But the building’s security guard would never hear her out here. No time to unlock the door and scramble inside her car—she’d have to face him….
The man, as if sensing her fear, stopped a good ten feet away from her. “Are you okay? I heard you scream.”
He was coming to save her. Not attack her. Fear turned to relief, then to intrigue. Who was he? What was he doing here?
“I’m fine, thanks. Just cut my finger.” She nodded toward her door, where the rose was still jammed under the handle.
He stared at her a moment, then smiled. “Sorry. That voice. It’s just strange to hear you in person.”
He had an attractive smile, but there was a bleakness in his eyes that suggested he didn’t use it often. “Do you listen to my show?”
She wondered what he was doing out on the streets of Seattle at this time of night…actually, morning. Something about the way he carried his body made her think he might be a cop, but she’d seen the car he’d sprinted from and it wasn’t a patrol car.
“I listen most nights,” he said.
Lots of people told her this, and she always felt complimented. But this man’s confession gave her a different, much more unsettling reaction.
Ignoring her throbbing thumb, she held out her hand. “I’m Georgia Lamont.”
“Pierce Harding.” He stepped closer, took her hand tenderly and let it go almost immediately. “I see you’re juggling a few things. Can I help you into your car?”
When she hesitated, he dug a business card out of his wallet. “I’m a private investigator,” he said. “I was just on my way home from an assignment, when I happened to hear your scream.”
How had he heard her scream from his car? Surely his window hadn’t been open in the rain? She tucked his card into the pocket of her trench coat and looked at him thoughtfully.
He was still maintaining a respectable distance, his manner completely nonthreatening. He was also slowly, but surely, becoming drenched. As was she.
She turned back to the car door and that silly flower jammed in the handle.
“Should I remove that for you?” Pierce Harding offered again.
She nodded. “Thanks, that would be great.”
It took him only a moment. The thorns seemed to have no effect on him.
He looked up at her with surprise on his face. “There’s a note.”
“Really?” She hadn’t seen anything earlier.
He unraveled something from the stem, then handed her a piece of paper, punctured in one place by a thorn. Then he removed the keys from her hand and unlocked the door and held it open. With the added light from the interior of her car, she could read the message easily.
Georgia—A dozen roses…then you’ll be mine.
“Oh, my.” She thought of the guy who’d called her tonight. Jack. He’d asked to see her after her show. Was this from him?
“From your boyfriend?” Pierce asked the question casually, but his dark eyes narrowed as he waited for her response.
She didn’t have a boyfriend, but she wouldn’t tell him that. Not yet, anyway. There was something very attractive, almost compelling, about this man. But he was, after all, a virtual stranger.
“This is probably from one of my listeners. Kind of sweet of him to come out in all this rain,” she said, trying to convince herself that it was, that there was nothing sinister in the phrase then you’ll be mine.
Pierce Harding brushed a sheen of water from his face. “Seems a little suspect to me. How do you think he knew which car was yours?”
“A lucky guess?” It occurred to her that for all she knew, the rose had been left by this very man in front of her. In fact, he could be the guy who’d called himself Jack.
But no. Jack had sounded young and insecure, nothing like this self-assured stranger.
“Maybe,” Pierce allowed. He stepped aside and gestured for her to get into the car. After a brief hesitation, that’s what she did, dropping her case to the passenger seat, along with the rose and the note.
Pierce leaned inside to pass her the keys. His hand was wet and cold, just like hers. She smiled up at him briefly, uncertainly.
“You’re soaked,” he said. “You’d better get going. Drive carefully, Ms. Lamont.”
He stood back for her to close the door, but she didn’t. Instead she peered up at him. He looked even taller from this vantage point. She noted his long, lean legs, and broad, powerful shoulders. If he’d intended to hurt her, he could have done so long ago.
Besides, she was new in town and working nights made it difficult to meet people. How was she going to broaden her horizons if she wasn’t willing to take the odd chance or two?
One thing she knew for sure. If she drove off now, she would never see Pierce Harding again. Somehow she couldn’t stand the thought of that.
This man was strong, capable, attractive…in a craggy sort of way. But it was the hint of sadness in the tired lines that bracketed his mouth that tugged at her heart.
In him she saw a different sadness than the one she’d sensed in Jack. A wiser, deeper, more pervasive sort of sadness.
“Is something wrong, Georgia?”
He hadn’t called her Ms. Lamont this time, she noticed. “I was just wondering…I don’t mean to be forward, this is strictly a friendly offer. But could I buy you a cup of coffee? For coming to my aid and everything? The coffee shop next door is open twenty-four hours.”
Pierce Harding looked surprised at first, which of course he would be. Women weren’t supposed to do things like invite strange men for coffee. Especially men who stepped out of dark shadows at the suspiciously right moment.
But no way could this man be the same guy who’d called her station and left her the rose. Every instinct Georgia possessed told her that was impossible.
“I’d be glad to join you for a coffee.” He glanced across the parking lot to the café she’d indicated. “Want to make a run for it?”
“Why not? We’re already soaked as it is.”
He held out his hand and she didn’t hesitate to take it. If all went well, soon she’d know much more about this man than just his name. And if things clicked between them, she might even end up with a date.
GEORGIA TOOK her bottle of orange juice and carrot muffin to a booth in the far corner. Pierce followed with his mug of coffee.
At the till, he’d tried to pay but she’d insisted she owed him.
For what, he wasn’t sure. Saving her from a thorny rose?
He slid onto the bench seat across from her, watching covertly as she unscrewed the lid on the bottle of juice, then inserted two skinny straws. He couldn’t believe he was really sitting here, with Georgia from KXPG, watching her sipping juice and breaking away pieces of her super-size muffin to pop into her mouth. Her hair hung in damp curls around a heart-shaped face.
Sweet, he thought. She looks like a really sweet person. Not exactly the image he’d attributed to her from listening to her show. But captivating none the less.
“I’m always starving after a show. I think it’s the crash after my adrenaline rush, you know?”
He nodded, fascinated suddenly by her eyes, which were open and honest, a vibrant blue. Not what he’d imagined, at all.
“Where are you from?”
“Seattle?” She offered hesitantly.
“With that accent? No way.” Funny how her slight twang didn’t come across on her radio program.
“You’re right.” She gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders. “I grew up on a farm in South Dakota. I went to college in Minnesota, then got my first job at an oldies station in Brookings. From there I moved to classic rock in Sioux Falls.”
“How did you end up in Seattle?”
“Pure luck. The program director for KXPG happened to stop at a motel in Sioux Falls while on vacation with his kids last August. I guess his wife had just left him and he and the kids had taken off on an impromptu road trip. Anyway, the night they were in Sioux Falls, his youngest turned sick with the flu. Mark said listening to my program helped both of them get through that night. The very next day I had a job offer.”
“I’m not surprised it only took one show to impress him.”
“Well, thanks. But what about you? Pierce. That’s an unusual name. Where did it come from?”
“God only knows. Maybe the doctor who delivered me?” He definitely could not imagine his mother pouring over baby name books, the way Cass had done. And Cass hadn’t even been pregnant. Just dreaming…
The memory pricked at his old stockpile of regrets and Pierce put his hand to his temple.
From across the table, Georgia clearly waited for more details about his life. She was probably curious about all the usual things. Where he’d grown up, gone to school, all that crap. In the end, though, she asked just one question.
“Were you a cop before you became an investigator?”
Now that was a perceptive question. Not that he should be surprised to find Georgia Lamont perceptive. Wasn’t that the very quality that drew him to her show every evening?
Georgia gave the impression that she understood all the worst pain and sorrow that could befall a human being. And yet, now that he’d met her, he’d guess that she’d experienced very little, or none, of the seamier side of life herself.
Likable, honest, wholesome…those were the adjectives that summed up the real Georgia Lamont. So how did she reach out to the lonely and disenfranchised the way she did? Who was that worldly, sultry enchantress she projected on air?
“I was.” His days as a cop seemed like a lifetime ago. “But I started my own business a couple of years ago. Mostly, it’s not a bad way to earn a living.”
“Tell me about some of your cases.”
“I don’t solve a murder every week,” he warned her, having come across this misconception more than a few times. “In fact, I don’t even own a gun. A lot of my work involves tracking witnesses, locating debtors, uncovering insurance fraud, background checks.”
“I always imagine private investigators following cheating spouses around. Do you handle those sorts of cases, too?”
“That’s not my favorite line of work. But occasionally I take on something like that.”
“Is that what you were doing tonight?”
He paused, then admitted as much with a nod. “My client had to go out of town on business. He was worried his wife was planning to meet with another man while he was gone.”
“And was he right?”
“I’m not sure. His wife took off for a hotel as soon as he left. She’s still there now. But as far as I can tell, she’s alone in that room. I figure her lover must have stood her up.”
“But then why not return home?”
“Exactly.”
“Hmm. That’s an interesting puzzle.” Georgia put one elbow on the table, then rested her chin in her hand. “Maybe she’s a spy. Maybe she’s planning to sell corporate secrets to someone else at the hotel.”
He tried to picture well-dressed, sophisticated Jodi Calder as a spy. Couldn’t do it.
“Tell me the truth,” Georgia asked suddenly. “Did you really just happen to be driving by when you heard me scream?”
Oh, hell. He wished he could say he had. He let himself study her for a few moments, as he admitted to himself that his preoccupation with her definitely had a sexual edge. She hadn’t said anything when he’d suggested the rose had come from a boyfriend, but he guessed that she was currently available. She didn’t wear a ring on her fourth finger of her left hand, at least.
“Sorta. Not really.”
She waited and he felt even more of a fool. He was going to sound like a groupie, as bad as that fellow who’d left the rose on her car.
“I had just finished my surveillance shift on that case I was telling you about. I’d been listening to your show and so I knew it was over and that you’d be leaving the building soon. The KXPG office building is right on my way home. When I reached it—I stopped. I can’t explain why I did that. I don’t make a habit of things like this….”
“It’s okay.” She seemed amused, not annoyed or put out by his explanation.
“I must sound like an idiot.”
“Not at all. It’s a compliment, isn’t it? That you liked my show enough to wonder about me.”
“You must get guys bugging you all the time.”
“It is an occupational hazard,” she admitted. “Usually they stick to phone calls though.”
He wished this latest creep had done the same. Only then, he would never have met Georgia. “Would you mind if I took another look at the note that was attached to the rose?”
She opened her bag and fished out the piece of paper. He flattened it on the table and read out loud, “A dozen roses…then you’ll be mine.’”
“Kind of weird, huh?”
“Why does he mention a dozen roses, when he only gave you one?”
“No idea.”
Pierce turned the paper over, checking to see if he’d missed anything. There were no clues that he could spot. The note had been typed on a laser quality printer, using standard issue paper.
“I had a guy phone the show a couple of times tonight. He was sweet and sounded lonely. I’ll bet he left the rose for me.”
“Jack?”
She nodded.
“I heard his calls. He sounded young and insecure. The guy who wrote this note is all too sure of himself. Notice, he isn’t asking if you’ll be his. He’s telling you.”
A little furrow formed between the pale lines of her eyebrows. “Do you think I should be worried? I’ve had listeners leave me presents before. One woman in Sioux Falls used to bake me a Christmas cake every December.”
“Lucky you.”
She laughed. “I didn’t actually eat it, I confess.”
Pierce wrapped his hands around the warm mug of coffee that he was making a point not to drink. He was going to have a difficult enough time falling asleep as it was. Georgia put out this energy… He could feel himself feeding off it. And not just in a sexual way, although there was that, too.
“Any idea how he would know which car was yours?” he asked, as he’d asked her earlier out in the parking lot. He, himself, had been surprised to discover the yellow VW belonged to Georgia. Though now that he’d talked to her face-to-face, he could see that it fit.
From his quick glance over the vehicle, though, he’d spotted nothing to give away the fact that the car was hers, other than a smear of lipstick on the KXPG commuter mug in her cup holder. Which matched exactly the shade of lipstick she was wearing right now. “Maybe he’s seen you drive to work.”
“Which would mean he’s been watching me.” Georgia shivered, then neatly folded the paper liner which had held her muffin. “I don’t like the idea of that.”
“From now on you should get the security guard at KXPG to walk you right to your car. No more watching from an open door.”
“Jack left me a rose. Not a bomb threat.”
“A little caution wouldn’t hurt. At home, too. Has this guy ever tried to contact you there?”
She shook her head. “No. And my phone is unlisted. I’ve always done that because as a jock, you do run across these crazies now and then. Usually they make annoying calls for a few weeks, then give up.”
But this guy had made personal contact through the rose. Pierce wished Georgia were a little more concerned than she appeared to be. He dug into the pocket of his jeans for another business card. The one he’d given her earlier had probably turned to mush from the rain.
“Here. If he sends you anything else, let me know, okay? You should probably call the police, too, Georgia. Just to be on the safe side.”
“The police?”
From her incredulous tone, he could tell she was unlikely to take his advice. She gazed at his card for several seconds, then tucked it into her cavernous black leather bag.
“Thank you again for everything. It’s nice to know that, even in a big city like Seattle, people are willing to help strangers.”
Her comment reminded him that though he felt like he knew her very well, the first she’d ever heard of him was tonight. “You’re welcome, Georgia.”
There was a moment of silence, while he considered the possibility of asking her out. She seemed as if she were waiting for him to do just that. She was new to Seattle, and she’d asked him for the coffee. He could tell by the way she looked at him that she liked what she saw.
Which only proved how fallible she was. If she could see him on the inside, she’d know better than to get too close. If she knew what had happened to Cass…
His wife had been a sweetheart and he could tell Georgia was from the same mold. Those kinds of women needed to be protected from men like him. No matter how much her radio persona attracted him, the real Georgia was much too vulnerable and innocent. A small-town girl. A good girl.
Let her stay that way, he cautioned himself. Let her find a nice guy who wants to settle down and raise a family. That’s what women like Georgia—and Cass—wanted and deserved.
“Are you okay to drive home alone?” he asked.
He could tell that wasn’t what she’d been hoping he would say. After a slight pause, she drew back. “I’ll be fine.”
He wasn’t surprised when she cleaned up after herself, putting the bottle in a container for recyclables, then trashing the muffin liner and napkin. He rose from his seat, leaving his coffee cup on the table and walked her to her car.
It was still drizzling. And dark. The interior clock on her dash told him it was almost 6:30 a.m.
“Nice meeting you, Georgia.”
She slipped behind the steering wheel. “You, too.” She gave him one last look and he could see her uncertainty. She’d undoubtedly sensed his attraction to her, just as he’d picked up on hers to him. She had to be wondering why he wasn’t asking to see her again.
If only she could know how lucky she was that this was ending right here.
GEORGIA HAD NEVER met a man like Pierce Harding. Definitely not in South Dakota, and not in Seattle, either. There was something hard about him, as well as sad. A man of mystery and secrets. His face was arresting—lean and sculpted, with dark eyes that flashed with intuitive intelligence. The way he held his powerful body, so contained and yet with such presence, made her suspect that he was a man who never fully relaxed.
She was so curious about him. Usually she found it easy to get people to open up to her. That was one of her gifts. But she’d never encountered anyone as reserved as Pierce. Despite having spent almost an hour with him over coffee, she still knew next to nothing about him.
Like, did he have a girlfriend? She hadn’t had the nerve to ask. Bad enough that she’d invited him for coffee—she’d never made the first move on a guy before. Even though she’d disguised her offer as a gesture of thanks, she suspected he’d seen right through her.
He was just the kind of guy who would.
Had he guessed how badly she’d wanted him to ask her out? She’d lingered at the booth hoping he would say something. But he hadn’t, and she didn’t think it was because he was shy.
Georgia parked her car in the lane next to her side of her rented two-story duplex. The windows on both halves of the building were dark. Obviously her neighbor, Fred Sorenson, a retired postal worker, was still sleeping. She checked his door to make sure it was locked and found it open. Sighing, she used her spare copy of his key to secure the deadbolt.
Though he was only in his early seventies, Fred could be forgetful at times. He also had trouble with his knees and sometimes spent the entire night on the sofa rather than deal with the stairs to the upper level bedrooms.
Once she’d suggested he might be more comfortable in a bungalow, or perhaps a condominium. He’d simply shaken his head. Belmont Avenue had been home to him for decades. He and his wife had raised their daughter in this very duplex. Though his wife had died two years ago, and his daughter was married and living in Australia, he still wouldn’t move.
Georgia stepped over the two-foot hedge that separated their properties. A puddle of water had pooled on the wooden step up to her porch. She splashed through it, then searched for her own house key on her ring.
Inside, the dark hall did not feel welcoming. She dropped her bag onto the wooden bench, then shrugged out of her wet jacket and hung it on a peg near the door.
She flicked on the hallway light and climbed the stairs. She hesitated, then reached into the bag to pull out Pierce Harding’s business card. In her bedroom, she switched on a lamp, then sat on her bed. She liked that it was a no-frills card, sensible and somehow manly, too. She wished she could believe that he’d handed it to her because he wanted to hear from her again. But when she remembered his vaguely aloof farewell, she knew that explanation wasn’t likely. He’d offered his card as a courtesy, in case that flower turned out not to be an innocent gift after all. In fact, he may have intended for her to consider hiring his services.
She felt her face grow hot with belated embarrassment. Of course, that was what he’d intended. She dropped the card into the wastepaper basket, disgusted with herself for feeling so disappointed.
She’d only just met him. Why should she care if he’d been courting her business, rather than her?
WHAT A NIGHT.
At two in the afternoon, Georgia pulled herself out of the warm covers and sat on the side of the bed, her feet flat on the cold hardwood floor. She hadn’t slept well at all, unable to stop thinking about the man she’d met last night.
Had Pierce Harding really been as incredible as she remembered? In the cold light of day, it didn’t seem possible. Her mother had always said her unrealistic romantic streak would cause trouble for her one day. Falling for a dark, intriguing stranger who had rushed to her rescue fit in with that theory all right.
Georgia glanced at the rose. She’d left it on her dresser and it was drooping sadly, the petals blackened along the edges. Poor Jack. He’d gone to all that effort and she hadn’t even bothered to put the blossom in water.
Well, it was too late now. She dropped the rose into the wastepaper basket, then froze, as Pierce’s business card caught her eye.
Oh, heck, maybe she should keep it. Just in case.
She placed the card on her dresser, and began to plan her day. She’d buy groceries first, then put together several home-cooked meals for Fred’s freezer. Since she loved spending time in the kitchen, Georgia didn’t consider this a chore but something to look forward to.
An hour later, after marking three recipes and compiling a substantial grocery list, Georgia was at the front door, making sure she had money, the list and her keys. She glanced in the mirror above the painted wooden bench to check her lipstick, then opened the door.
Something on the porch floor caught her eye.
It was a rose. Another red rose.
She glanced around the neighborhood looking for something or someone who didn’t belong. But all was quiet and still. She stepped out onto the porch to check the blind spot behind the rattan chair and footstool she kept out here. Again, nothing was amiss.
Whoever had left her this rose was long gone. Georgia stooped and grasped the end of the stem, careful not to prick herself on the thorns this time.
Like before, a note had been wrapped around the stem. She went inside, closing the door and locking it, before she scanned the short missive.
Georgia, the typed message read. I heard the song you played for me last night. Did you know I was listening? Have you seen me watching you, too?
She frowned, trying to temper her rising anxiety. She had to stay calm. Think clearly. This had to be from Jack. She’d played a song for him last night. Of course, she’d known he’d been listening. But watching?
He must have followed her home. She shivered at the idea, then shoved the note into her bag. What should she do?
The image of Pierce’s business card came immediately to mind. He’d said to call if she had any problems. Was this second rose a problem?
Judging by the pounding of her heart and the sweating of her palms, it was.
CHAPTER THREE
PIERCE’S OFFICE space consisted of three interconnected rooms. One was his, another was shared by Jake Jeffrey and Will Livingstone and the third was for storage and reference materials. He had a computer with Internet access set up in there that he and his staff all shared.
The receptionist, Robin Housley, sat in the crossroads of the three offices. She had a computer that was supposed to be used to keep track of appointments and addresses and the bookkeeping records. Unfortunately Robin had no experience with even the most basic of computer accounting packages. She kept a manual ledger and was forever scribbling numbers on odd scraps of paper, which she stuck to the computer monitor. At least it was useful for something.
When she’d applied for the job of receptionist at Harding Investigations she’d stood in front of his desk and said, “I’m forty-seven and completely untrained for any type of job. My husband left me five days ago and I have an autistic child to provide for.”
It was quite the job résumé. He’d never heard another like it.
Unless it was Jake’s, the kid he’d hired as a general gofer and legman who came to him initially with his ankle in a cast. Or Will Livingstone, who’d been “retired” from his job with a bigger agency, but who couldn’t afford to stop working just because he was over sixty.
When he’d started his agency after Cass’s death, Pierce hadn’t intended to have one employee, let alone a staff. The point of leaving police work had been to work alone.
But his business had grown so quickly—mostly thanks to references from the cops he used to work with—that he’d been forced to hire. Now Pierce was happiest when his employees were doing the jobs he’d employed them to do without asking any questions or needing any help. That wasn’t often.
And then there was the cat.
Entering his office now, Pierce could see her curled in the top drawer of his filing cabinet. She’d claimed the space the first day she’d shown up, mewing at his door. He’d given her to Robin, instructing her to get rid of the damn pest.
An hour later, he’d spotted the stray drinking milk from his coffee mug. “What’s this cat still doing here?” he’d demanded of Robin.
“Ask her,” Robin had shrugged. “She won’t talk to me.”
And, though she never did talk to Pierce, either, she did seem to like him best, sleeping in his office, curling up on his lap whenever he sat still for more than five minutes, mewing when he first came in for the day.
She did that now, standing up, arching her back, stretching out her front paws.
“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered back at her, heading straight for his desk. Robin was on his heels.
“Do you have the time sheets from last week for me yet?”
“I do.” From his briefcase he pulled out the paperwork he’d finished earlier, knowing Robin would be drafting the invoices this afternoon. There would be errors, and he’d have to correct them, but that was the way things went around here.
Robin took the information from him, handing him a cup of coffee in exchange. When she’d first started, he’d told her she didn’t need to do that, wait on him like some kind of servant. But making coffee was the one thing she was really good at and so he hadn’t tried too hard to dissuade her.
“Thanks.” He took his first sip, only then feeling that he might be able to get through the rest of this day after all.
“You have a three o’clock appointment,” Robin told him. “A new client.”
He frowned. With around-the-clock surveillance on the Calder case right now, everyone was pretty busy. And he’d been planning to spend his afternoon in the courthouse, digging through land files for one of his lawyer clients.
“Hard to say over the phone, but she sounded young. And sexy.”
He raised his eyebrows at Robin, not changing his expression in any other way.
“I’ll start a file for her. Leave it on your desk.” Robin left his office, not bothering to close the door, which was just as well, since she was typically in and out so often there was little point in erecting a barrier between them.
He’d assign Jake the courtroom job, he decided, reaching for the phone.
An hour later, Georgia Lamont swept into his office in a red leather jacket, well-fitted jeans, and high-heeled boots.
“Told you she was sexy,” Robin hissed at him, just before she admitted the woman into his office. “And she brought you a flower!”
GEORGIA FELT some trepidation as the middle-aged receptionist closed the door behind her. She set the rose on Pierce’s desk, then sat, uninvited, in the chair obviously meant for clients.
She’d never hired an investigator before. And, though they’d shared a coffee, Pierce looked at her with all the warmth of a perfect stranger.
As their gazes met and held, she had the urge to run out of the room. What was she doing here? She’d been given a rose—how threatening was that? Oh, sure she’d been startled at first. But she wasn’t really scared of the poor soul who had taken the time to leave her what he probably thought was a nice surprise.
She felt herself blush as she acknowledged the real reason she’d made this appointment. To see Pierce again.
She felt suddenly sure that he knew exactly why she was here and why she’d dressed the way she had—in the sexiest outfit she owned.
Without speaking, he picked up the rose and the note that she’d set down with it. While he studied the short message, she glanced around his office. It was a modern, utilitarian space, with taupe carpeting and natural, light maple furniture. In the corner, a well-worn leather chair looked like a good spot to sit and read.
Framed on the off-white walls was his state license. His bookshelves were crammed, mostly with phone books from various American cities and a few Canadian ones besides.
“I didn’t expect you to have a receptionist.” This was a real business. She’d pictured him on his own, in a dusty, paper-strewn room with a window-fronted door. He should have had his feet up on his desk when she’d entered. And a cigarette in his mouth.
That’s what she got for watching too many movies. Preconceptions, of the extremely romantic sort.
“When did you get this?”
Pierce looked grouchy. Or maybe he was just tired. They’d been up late last night and he probably hadn’t had the luxury of sleeping until early afternoon as she had.
“I found it on my porch this afternoon. I was stepping out for groceries.” Which she still had to do on her way home from this meeting.
“I heard the song you played for me last night… Do you know which song he meant?”
“As usual, I played several requests. Including one for Jack.”
“You still think the roses are coming from him?”
“Doesn’t that seem most likely?”
He ignored her, as he focused on the next part of the message. “This stuff about watching you…” He lifted his head again. “Can’t say I like the sound of that.”
“No.”
“Have you noticed anyone hanging around your home? Tailing you in your car?”
“Not at all. But he must have followed me home last night.”
“Possibly. Or he already knew where you lived from trailing you on a different night.”
“Most stalkers don’t turn out to be violent,” she said, more to convince herself than Pierce.
“Maybe so. But you really should call the police just in case. And install a security system in your home. Unless you already have one?”
She shook her head.
Pierce opened a file labeled with her name and started writing on the first page. Then he jotted a note on a pad by his phone. “I’ll get back to you.”
“On the security system?”
“Yeah. I might be able to pick up something wholesale.” He focused his dark eyes on her. “A good security system, a little extra caution on your part and a precautionary phone call to the police should be enough for now. Unless you want me to put some time into tracking this guy down?”
“Oh, no. That’s not necessary. I just wanted your opinion. About whether this was something to be worried about. I’m willing to pay for your time, of course.”
For the first time a smile crept up one side of his mouth. “I’m not going to charge you for advising you to be careful. As for the security system, I don’t recommend anything fancy, just an alarm so you’ll know if someone tries to tamper with your windows or doors. Usually the sound of the buzzer is enough to frighten an intruder away. Do your neighbors live close?”
She thought of Fred, only a wall away. “Oh, definitely.”
“Good, then I think that’s all you need.”
“And the cost of the security system?”
“I’m not sure, but the parts are not expensive. Especially when you consider the value of your own peace of mind.”
He capped his pen and set it on the desk. Closed her file. But not, she noticed, before inserting the two notes she’d given him earlier.
“What about installation?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
Given his cool demeanor, she was surprised by the offer. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not?”
Wasn’t it obvious? “You’re running a business. You can’t give your services away for free.”
“Let me worry about my business. I haven’t missed a payroll yet.”
She heard the tinge of irony in his tone and guessed his business was actually doing very well. A fact supported by the clean, polished look of his offices.
“It just seems odd you would do this favor for someone you only met last night.”
“Actually, Georgia, I met you more than a month ago. It’s you who only met me last night. Let’s just say I want to ensure the continued success of Seattle after Midnight.”
WITH A PROMISE to stop by later that evening to install the security system, Pierce walked Georgia to the door, past Robin who didn’t even try to pretend she wasn’t interested in their conversation.
As soon as Georgia was gone, he handed Robin the file. “Put this away, please.”
Robin took a peek inside. “She didn’t sign the contract. Did you get a retainer?”
“I did not,” he said in a tone meant to discourage further questions.
“I see. She’s a friend, then.”
“She isn’t a friend.”
“An admirer?”
“Robin…”
“Would you like me to put your rose in a vase?”
He retreated behind his office door, closing it firmly between them.
GEORGIA STOPPED at the IGA to pick up her groceries, then went home to cook. She was relieved to find no roses waiting for her when she returned and gave herself over to the double pleasure of cooking and listening to Vivaldi for a change.
She was spooning chicken cacciatore—her mother’s recipe—into individual serving containers when her doorbell rang. She wiped her hands on a towel then went to see who was there.
Pierce stood on her welcome mat, a large cardboard box in hand.
Her heart thumped at the sight of him. He was dressed as he’d been in the office that day, in jeans and a black shirt made out of cotton so fine it looked as soft as silk. He wiped his feet on the mat several times before stepping inside. It wasn’t raining, but the evening sky was dreary.
“I didn’t expect you so soon.” She sounded breathless, not at all like herself. But Pierce didn’t seem to notice—not her voice or anything else about her, either.
He settled into work right away, and after watching him for a while, she returned to the kitchen. She checked on the beef stew simmering on the stove, then made a batch of cheese biscuits. When those were ready, she labeled several packages for Fred and placed them in a cardboard box.
Pierce was in the entry, installing a motion detector in the corner of the hall.
“I’m going to take this over to my next-door neighbor, Fred.”
“I saw him on the porch when I came in. Seems like the kind of guy who likes to keep an eye on things.”
“That’s Fred all right.” He’d been like a mother hen since she’d moved in. Warning her about the dangers of the big city and the need for a pretty, young woman to be careful. Meanwhile, he went to sleep with his front door unlocked at night.
Chuckling to herself, Georgia stepped over the hedge and found Fred on the porch, as if he were waiting for her.
“Thought I smelled something cooking over there.” He gave her a smile and a wink. “What did you make this week, Georgie-girl?”
“Let’s go inside and I’ll show you.”
She spent the better part of an hour talking to Fred, who insisted she share half a beer with him while he ate her stew. She stored the casseroles in his freezer and made him promise he’d eat one every night.
“Toast and cereal are fine for breakfast and lunch, but you need at least one real meal every day.”
He patted her hand. “You sound like my daughter.”
She knew Fred’s daughter could only afford to visit once every three or four years. She usually preferred to visit Seattle in the summer. Which meant Fred spent every Christmas alone. Maybe next year, she’d invite him to South Dakota with her.
“Did the show go well last night?” Fred asked, as she was preparing to leave.
“Pretty good, thanks.”
“I’m sorry I missed it.”
“That’s okay.” Fred was not a night owl, but it was sweet the way he always enquired about her show.
She left his house, hopped the hedge, then bounded up the shallow steps of her own porch. The second she opened her front door an obnoxious, unrelenting screeching filled the air.
Georgia shrieked, then covered her ears. Pierce galloped down the stairs, shot her a look of disbelief, then rounded the corner toward the back door where he’d installed the main control panel.
A moment later, Fred limped over, arriving on her porch just as Pierce managed to disable the alarm.
“I guess it works,” she said sheepishly to Pierce when he returned.
“I’d say so.” Pierce offered a hand to her neighbor and the two men chatted about the system for a few minutes. Fred seemed pleased that Georgia was taking security seriously.
“This neighborhood isn’t as safe as it used to be. Why just the other day I saw a strange man sitting in a car across the street. Seemed like he was casing the block, if you ask me.”
“Oh?” Pierce looked interested. “Can you give me a description of this guy?”
“Would if I could, but he was wearing a baseball cap and my eyes aren’t as good as they used to be. I tried to run outside to get his license number but my knees were acting up real bad that day.”
“Do you remember which day this was?” Pierce asked.
Fred traced back over the past week and finally settled on a day just before the first rose had been delivered.
“If you happen to notice him again, I’d be glad if you’d let me know.” Pierce gave Fred one of his business cards. “Now, let me show you both how this new security system works.”
Pierce led Georgia and Fred to the kitchen where the control panel had been installed next to the rear entrance. He explained how to activate the system and how to change the four-number code.
“Keep this portable unit by the front door,” he told Georgia, handing her a plastic box about the size of a fat TV remote control. “As long as you punch in your code within thirty seconds of opening the front door, the alarm won’t go off.”
Later, once Fred had returned home, he nodded at Georgia. “Your neighbor made it over here pretty quick for an old guy.”
“Fred’s one of the good ones.” She brushed a dab of flour from her jeans. If only she’d had time to change before Pierce showed up on her doorstep. “What do you think about that man he saw on the street?”
“Could be your guy. Can’t say for sure, of course. I hope Fred will call me if he spots him again.”
“I’m sure he will. Fred takes it personally if anything bad happens on the block.”
“I’m glad he watches out for you.”
They ran out of things to say at the same time. After an awkward pause, Pierce busied himself looking everywhere but at her. He gathered his tools and placed them in the cardboard box he’d brought with him. Georgia readied her checkbook, but as he’d already indicated, Pierce let her reimburse him for the cost of materials only, nothing for his time.
“You’ll let me repay you with dinner, at least?”
“That’s not necessary.”
Though she’d been expecting the rejection, she still felt hurt. If he liked her enough to install the security system for no charge, why not stay for dinner, too?
She could guess the answer. Pierce had connected to the radio Georgia, but not the real-life version.
She must have disappointed him by not living up to her airwave image. Not even the red leather coat and the fashion boots she’d been wearing that afternoon in his office had been enough to heat up her small-town-girl image.
“At least take something with you. You can microwave it at home.” She offered him the choice of the chicken or the beef and was rewarded with a grin.
“I feel like I’m on an airplane.”
“Trust me, my mother’s recipes are nothing like the food you get on an airplane.”
He held up one hand. “No insult intended.”
She ended up giving him plastic containers of both, as well as a bag containing a half-dozen biscuits. At the door he said, “I’m not sure I didn’t get the best deal.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Thank you.” On her salary she could never have afforded the regular cost of a security system.
“The system only works if you activate it.” When she didn’t reply, he added, “You will activate it, right? Whenever you’re home and especially at night.”
“Of course.”
He looked at her doubtfully, then finally headed for his car. She watched him go with regret. This was it. She really wouldn’t see him again. She went back inside to clean the kitchen after her marathon cooking session. Five minutes hadn’t passed when she heard something in the hall.
She lifted her head and listened intently. A second later, she heard another creak. Her spine tingled. She tensed, grabbed the handle of her cast-iron frying pan, then whirled around.
Pierce put his hands up to shield his face.
She screamed. “What are you doing?”
“I had a feeling you’d forget to activate the alarm.”
“I completely forgot.” She’d have to get used to a new routine.
“I went to a lot of work to wire in that system. Don’t you think you could humor me and use the thing? Or at least lock the damn door?”
“I’m sorry.” Though they’d never locked their house on the farm, since she’d lived alone she’d been conscientious about doing so. Why she’d forgotten today, she couldn’t explain.
“I did have another reason for coming back.” Pierce’s harsh tone softened as he held up the bag of food she’d given to him. “I’ve changed my mind about dinner. If you’re still willing, I’d be glad to share this with you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
GEORGIA SET the table with china plates covered in pretty blue flowers. Pierce looked at those plates with dismay. More evidence that Georgia was exactly the sort of woman he’d pegged her as in the KXPG parking lot last night. The sweet hometown type who baked biscuits without a mix and used her grandmother’s heirloom china. She was exactly the sort he had no business getting to know, no business encouraging, no business lusting after.
And that was the hell of it. Even though she wasn’t at all his type, he was attracted to her.
Just attracted?
Yes, he assured himself. He might not be the smartest man in the world, but he wasn’t foolish enough to make the same mistake twice.
“Would you like a glass of wine with dinner? Or would you prefer a beer or water?”
Telling himself wine was too romantic, Pierce choose beer and was surprised when Georgia asked him to get her one from the fridge, as well.
Georgia spooned hearty beef stew into her pretty dishes. She prepared a quick salad and put it on the table with a basket of biscuits and a dish of soft butter.
“Looks good.” His comment could have applied equally to Georgia as it did to the meal. With her coloring—pink cheeks, blue eyes, golden hair—she didn’t need makeup or fancy clothes to sparkle. In blue jeans and a sweater the color of spring grass, she topped any runway model he’d ever seen.
“Tell me about South Dakota,” he said once they were both seated and eating. Some interesting African music was playing in the background. Georgia had kicked off her slippers and was sitting cross-legged on her chair. He felt much more relaxed than he’d expected.
“What can I say? I grew up on a farm. I can drive a tractor, operate an auger, bake bread from scratch. I liked living in the country, but from the day I toured the local country station with my sixth grade class I’ve known I wanted to work in radio.”
“Moving to Seattle must have been a big step.”
“It was. My parents were apprehensive, to say the least. They still are. But my view is that people are people, no matter where they live.”
That was true. But also not. To some extent living in a major city changed people. Living in a poor neighborhood rife with gangs, small-time criminals and prostitutes on every corner changed people, too.
“You disagree?” she said, reading his expression correctly.
“My experience is that people are influenced by their environment. Some more than others.”
“Did you grow up in Seattle?”
“New York City.” But he didn’t want to talk about that. “This stew is really good. What are these yellow vegetables? They don’t taste like potatoes.”
“Turnips,” she said, not taking her eyes off him. “When did you leave New York?”
“I was little more than a kid.” He’d been sixteen and he’d had a plan. He’d saved for a car and the day he qualified for his license, he’d driven off, not stopping until he reached the ocean.
“So tell me more about your life in South Dakota. Did you leave behind a sweetheart when you moved to Seattle?”
Georgia’s pink cheeks grew rosier. “How did you know?”
“Women like you always leave behind a sweetheart when they move to the big city. Was he a farmer?”
She laughed. “You know the script, don’t you? Craig’s family owns a dairy farm two miles from ours. We grew up together. He really is the nicest guy.”
“Do you think he’s still waiting for you?”
“I hope not. I told him our relationship was over. That I didn’t plan on ever coming back.”
Pierce heaped his spoon with stew, then paused, eyebrows raised. “Did he offer to move to Seattle with you?”
“Craig could never be happy anywhere but on the farm.”
She hadn’t answered the question. Did she miss her farmer more than she was willing to admit? To him her smile looked a little sad. “Are you sure you made the right decision? Maybe life in South Dakota had everything you really need. Everything you really want.”
Georgia set down her fork, then took a long drink from her beer. When she was done, she wiped her damp mouth with her napkin and fixed him with an uncompromising look. “What are you saying? That I don’t belong in a city like Seattle?”
“No—”
“I’ve got news for you. I’m good on the radio and I intend to have a syndicated program of my own one day. People all across America are going to listen to me and my show won’t be called Seattle after Midnight then, it’ll be Georgia after Midnight.”
Her passion surprised him. Then he thought about the siren who drew him to the radio every weeknight and realized he shouldn’t have been surprised at all.
“I never meant to question your talent.”
“What did you mean to question? You know, you’re a cynical man, Pierce Harding. I wonder what made you that way.” With her elbows on the table, she folded her hands together and rested her chin on the perch. Gazed at his hands. “I see you don’t wear a wedding band. Was it a nasty divorce that gave you this bleak view of the world?”
He blinked with surprise. Turned his head very slightly away from her.
“I’m not divorced.” He was suddenly very regretful that he hadn’t just driven off when he had the chance. “I’m a widower. My wife died two years ago.”
GEORGIA COULD HAVE kicked herself for being so thoughtless. “I’m sorry.” The apology sprang immediately to her lips. “How tragic. Was she ill?”
She guessed he didn’t want to talk about it. Pierce had sidestepped every one of her personal questions last night and today, too. But she felt it would be callous to just let his statement pass without comment.
“She was killed in a car accident.”
Pierce’s face settled into grim lines that made him look a good five years older than he had earlier that afternoon. That his emotions regarding his wife ran deep, Georgia had no doubt. But she suspected there was more than grief at play.
“I’m sorry,” she said again.
Pierce added nothing to that, and she used the pause in their conversation as an opportunity to clear the dishes. A few minutes later when she offered pie and coffee, she wasn’t surprised that Pierce declined.
He glanced at his watch. “I really should be getting to work.”
“Same surveillance job as last night?”
He nodded.
She watched him shrug into his leather jacket and put on his shoes. What was it like to have a job like his? She imagined sitting in a car late at night, alone, watching other people live their lives, witnessing the very worst that human behavior had to offer.
“Your work must be very lonely.”
“At times. On late-night surveillance jobs the hardest part is staying alert.”
Yes, she could see how that would be a challenge. “How do you keep from falling asleep?”
At first it seemed he wasn’t going to answer. He pulled his car keys from his jacket pocket. Stared at them for a moment as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. Just before he left, he glanced over his shoulder at her.
“I listen to you,” he said. And then he was gone.
AS SOON AS he’d driven away from Georgia’s, Pierce powered on his cell phone and called Will Livingstone, currently working the afternoon shift on the Calder job. Pierce’s stint wasn’t scheduled to begin for another half hour. But he was sure Will wouldn’t object if he spelled him early.
“How’s it going, Will?”
“The lady went out shopping for a few hours this afternoon. The rest of the time she’s been in that room without any visitors that I can tell.” Will sounded mystified by this.
“Still no man on the scene?”
“Not that I can tell. I’m sorry, Pierce. We’re not coming up with any answers here.”
“This is a strange one, all right.”
Will yawned loudly. “You on your way?”
“Be there in fifteen.” Water splashed to the sidewalk as Pierce drove through a puddle in the middle of the road. He stopped at a red light where his eyes were drawn to a thirty-foot spruce tree across the street. The owners had strung colored lights about halfway around the tree, then given up. Must have run out of ladder or lights. Whatever the reason, the result looked ridiculous rather than festive. Waste of bloody electricity.
There was hardly any traffic and the rain had slowed to a drizzle. He drove as if on autopilot and tried not to think about the house he’d just left, the meal he’d eaten, the woman whose company he’d shared—and enjoyed. A smart man wouldn’t have turned back the way he had. After all, he’d made a clean getaway after installing the security system. Who cared if she used it? He’d done his part by putting it in. His conscience was clear.
Five minutes earlier than he’d said on the phone, Pierce steered into the service station across from the hotel and parked next to Will Livingstone’s Toyota. He acknowledged Will’s presence with a nod, then dashed into the small convenience store attached to the gas station. He poured himself an extra-large coffee and grabbed a bag of sunflower seeds and a new package of gum.
The kid behind the counter eyed him curiously. “Still staking out that hotel?”
“Another forty-eight hours.”
The kid nodded, trying to look as if this were no big deal to him.
Pierce pocketed the seeds, his gum and the change, then carried his coffee outside. Will unrolled his driver-side window.
“Seems like she’s here for the night again,” Will said. “You could probably go home for a few hours shut-eye and come back in the morning.”
“Probably,” Pierce acknowledged. But he wouldn’t. Will passed him the log they used to record Jodi’s movements.
“Thanks.” Pierce returned to his car and settled in. He tore open the tab on his coffee and took a sip of the bitter brew. Levering his seat back about ten degrees, he stretched out his legs.
Across the street the Charleston’s fairy lights sparkled. He wondered what Jodi was up to right now. Doing drugs? Getting loaded? What? He couldn’t imagine anything so bad that a middle-aged woman would leave her comfortable home and book into a hotel all by herself.
He shifted in his seat and thought about the husband. Steven Calder had left a phone message earlier in the afternoon, then again around five, while Pierce had been at Georgia’s. Unsurprisingly, Calder had been unable to contact his wife at home.
Pierce knew he should phone the man, but thoughts of Georgia kept distracting him.
Damn that woman. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the clock on the dashboard and calculating the hours until her program would begin. He wondered if he would feel the same magic now that he’d met her.
He opened the log and reviewed the entries that had been made by Jake, then Will. Jodi Calder’s movements while shopping that afternoon had been carefully tracked. She’d gone to a quick-stop grocer, a bookstore and an office supply shop.
Nothing suspicious in any of that.
In fact, there was nothing suspicious about anything Jodi Calder had done since her husband left town. Except for booking into this hotel room.
After an hour of waiting and watching while nothing happened, Pierce decided to do something he’d never tried in a case like this. He was going to knock on her hotel room door and ask her.
I LISTEN TO YOU, Pierce had said. I LISTEN TO YOU. As she prepared for that evening’s show in her studio, Georgia couldn’t stop the soundtrack in her head from repeating that line. Something in his delivery, in the heat of his eyes when he’d said it, made her knees feel weak and her insides tingle. She had to keep reminding herself that it was her program he was interested in. Not her body.
She pushed away from the desk where she’d been outlining a script and looked up from her control board through the window to the producer’s room. Larry Sizemore sat with his back to her, busy with his last-minute preparations, too. They’d had their preshow meeting half an hour ago. As usual, he’d met all her suggestions and ideas with stony acceptance.
She sighed and turned to the computer on her right. She had some phone calls to edit. Only very rarely did she air calls live as she had last night. Usually she worked prerecorded, edited calls carefully into her program.
Looking into her computer screen, a trick of lighting reflected her own image back at her. What she saw made her sigh.
She knew the image she presented on the air differed from the reality. Though she was twenty-eight, she looked at least five years younger. That might be a benefit to her in ten years, but right now she felt hampered, not only by her appearance, but by her background, her inexperience, her small-town naiveté.
She wanted Pierce to act on the attraction she was almost sure he felt. Not hold himself back the way he’d done tonight.
I listen to you. To you, Georgia, to you.
She wanted him to hold her in his arms and say those words. Then kiss her. And touch her… Eyes closed, she imagined how it would feel, how his arms would circle her waist, how he’d lift her chin with his finger then…
The phone rang, her private line, zapping fantasy into cold reality. Her first hope was that it was Pierce.
“Yes?”
But it was just Monty from the security desk. There’d been a delivery for her—did she want him to bring it up?
“No, I’ll be right there.” She ran down the double flight of stairs that led to the main foyer. Monty’s desk was to the left of the two revolving doors and the regular set of glass doors that led to the street.
Monty Greenfield, in his fifties and a little portly, straightened in his chair, pulling back his shoulders to better fill his stiffly pressed navy uniform. They usually had a couple of short conversations during the course of an evening. He was new here too, having started his job just weeks before she began hers. He’d needed a change of scene after his wife’s death, he’d told her. Apparently Nancy had been sick for a long time.
“Here you go, Georgia. Looks like you have an admirer.” He held up a loosely wrapped package, obviously flowers.
Flowers. Georgia hesitated, then stepped forward. Maybe this would turn out to be something else. From someone else.
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